Tea in the Himalayas

I woke up early to get to the airport on time but one can never plan enough for the unpredictability of Delhi traffic. It is anarchy at it's most eloquent, chaos in it's most precise and purist form, where near misses are measured in millimeters not car lengths, and traffic laws are for the timid and inefficient. It resembles a school of fish that numbers in the millions, all moving, turning, merging as one living being. It's how traffic was intended to be, the way nature handles traffic.

The journey to Darjeeling, home to some of the world's finest tea plantations, took nine hours by car, airplane, bus, taxi, and jeep, with the last kilometer or so on foot. I passed through rolling farmlands that led deep into massive jungles with huge vines and giant trees and finally rose up into the foot hills of the Himalayas... the front row seats to the most magnificent show on earth.

The small town of Darjeeling is like something straight out of a fantasy. All of the precariously perched buildings cascade down incredibly steep slopes covered in lush greenery. They're connected by thousands of winding steps that lead up up up (Doctor Suess would be proud). The people are a mix of cultures including Tibetan, Mongolian, Bhutanese, Bangladeshi, as well as Indian. There are Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims all living amongst each other and there are large, mountain-hardy smiles everywhere you turn. When planning to walk to a particular site or temple the distances are deceiving. You have to take into account the elevation gain and loss along the way which basically doubles your distance.

Darjeeling sits squarely facing four of the five highest peaks in the world, each one being lit by the early morning sunrise in slow succession. The mountains stand like the dissonant tones of a symphony before the conductor taps his wand and brings the whole world to attention in a moment of sacred silence. Every morning hundreds of people take jeeps up to a point in the mountains called Tiger Hill which is supposed to provide one of the best views of the nearby peaks. My driver told me that I needed to wake at 3:45am in order to get to the hill in time for the sunrise.

The next morning was quite the spectacle. Hundreds of jeeps racing towards the hill, passing each other on the curving bends in the road as it wound higher and higher. The beams of our headlights bounced and cut through the darkness over the rough roads chasing the red taillights in front of us. "What's the rush?" I thought as we honked and zoomed past another jeep full of affluent Indian tourists. "It's 4am. The sun doesn't rise for another hour and a half and it's only 10 more kilometers to the view point".

In the next few minutes I found out what the rush was. Once we made the final turn we reached a traffic jam... in the dark!!! There were hundreds of jeeps stopped in the road and thousands of people all walking among the traffic to the top of the hill. Once I reached the top it was like being at a huge outdoor concert. People were crammed in tight and pushing and shoving there way into position. It was nothing like what I had pictured. I thought I was going to experience a peaceful sunrise in relative silence with time to drink in the significance of the moment. Instead it was like being at a circus. Families posed together for cellphone camera portraits. Relatives yelled across the crowd at other relatives to get a better spot. And all of this for what? A thick bank of clouds covering everything within site with the exception of only the nearest trees. I waited it out until well after sunrise hoping to get the shot of a lifetime and nothing... only clouds and crowds.

Even though the trip to get a shot of the mountains at sunrise was a bust, I did get some amazing photos of the monasteries along the way back. My driver, Kumar, took me through his small town named Ghoom which was an incredible slice of village life. I was able to see a temple full of about 300 young monks all chanting their morning prayers. As one of them slipped out a side pathway to fetch something for one of the elders, I walked around the side and caught his attention. With his permission I was able to get a single quick shot... one of my favorites so far.

The view from the window of my room at the Hotel Dekeling looked out on all of Darjeeling. It was in the attic of an old building high above the streets below. And when I say high, I mean very high... it was 112 steps to get up to my room. The winding staircase passed two restaurants and another hotel on the way up. Finally it passed the lobby of my hotel, then the kitchen above the lobby. And as the staircase climbed it got narrower and narrower. It continued up and passed the living quarters of the employees before finally reaching my room at the very top. I loved having the crow's nest but it had it's drawbacks. It had a corrugated tin roof and the young girls who did the laundry each day had a habit of spreading it out to dry in the morning sun right on my rooftop. Let me tell you, it's nearly impossible to be quiet while walking on a tin roof, especially in the early morning before the sounds of the day start to assault your senses. All in all though, it was a wonderful place to stay.

First week in India...

Best seat in the house! Seat 31h is an exit row seat about midway back on a Boeing 777. It's got about an acre of leg room. After extending my legs as far out in front of me as they'd go there was still about 5 feet of room until the bulk head wall to the bathroom and the self-serve drinks.

The flight was full of Indian families who had no regard for "FAA regulations" and the flight attendants knew they were up against a losing battle. They would emphatically demand that the bearded man with a white turban and pointy shoes take his seat, they would pass a labored smile to the woman with screaming children banging on the tray tables, they did their best to keep up with the overflowing trash heaps collecting around the exit doors, the floors splattered and stained with white yogurt.

The very moment that the wheels touched the ground everyone began milling around despite the flight attendants shouts and PA annoucements to "PLEASE TAKE YOUR SEATS NOW!!! WAIIT UNTIL WE'VE COME TO THE GATE AND THE SEATBELT SIGN IS TURNED OFF!!!". Their pleas, lost in translation, fell on deaf ears and they finally gave up and retreated to the back of the plane, frazzeled from the last 14 hours in the air.

The first breath of Delhi air can only be described as a rotting garbage dump set ablaze into a huge bonfire. Although the temperature was about 100 degress when we landed at 8:30pm it wasn't overwhelming, it was the smell, that thick burning trash heap smell. It felt like each square foot of air weighed ten pounds. When I left the airport terminal there were hundreds of people waiting for the arriving passengers, much like my experience in Kathmandu. I was pleased to find that my hotel had sent the driver as promised. Miraculously, I found my name on the sign he was holding among hundreds of other signs, each with hand scribbled names, hotels, and travel services. It read "Jayle Rivyers", interesting spelling.

He was a nice kid about 18 years old who was eager to speak English with me. It took me a while to understand him though, he used the words "in the" with everything... "In the flight, you have good flight coming in the Delhi? In the... uh... traffic, many traffic to in the hotel. You have many good time in the India. Thank you sir." The ride to the hotel was chaotic... dust, cows, buses, bicycles, rickshaws, tuk tuks, horns blasting and hundreds of near misses, all in one nocturnal mosh pit pulsing to the strange syncopated rhythm that is India.

The next morning I hired a driver from the hotel to take me to Lal Qila, or Red Fort, a remnant of the Moghul Empire finished in 1648. The imposing complex stands on an octagonal 2km plot with sandstone walls and fortified with turrets. Next was the Jama Masjid, India's largest mosque, that soars above the old city. After climbing the mountain of stairs to the entrance, it opens into an immense stone courtyard large enough to hold 25,000 worshippers.

Upon arriving I got out of the car with my camera bag on my shoulder as always and he told me to wear it on the front, warning me of pick pockets and theives. "This is India" he said with a bright smile. The Red Fort was nice but nothing I hadn't seen before in Nepal or Cambodia or Thailand. The mosque, however, was incredible. There was beautiful light and I think I got some great shots. With the early morning sunrise filling the cavernous stone halls and archways, the only fitting description is tranquilty incarnate.

The next morning I ventured out on foot among the "pick pockets and thieves" that I was warned about. There was no problem at all. I've figured out that the hotels try to scare you with scandalous stories so that you'll eat at their restaurants, use their drivers, and stay at their hotels (all at higher prices). When I was finally out among the people on the streets, I had no more problems with hawkers or scams than I've had in Bangkok or Saigon or any other big city. Staying insulated from the people of a county leads one to develop an "us and them" attitude that never really lets you see the country and the culture for what it is.

Week One: San Francisco to Tokyo to Bangkok

Leaving at 11am is definitely the way to go. After getting checked in through security, we boarded the plane and proceeded to find all of the empty seats. I had seven in a row to myself so I took an eight hour nap while heading across the ocean.

We spent several days in Bangkok exploring the area and one of the highlights was seeing Muy Thai (or Thai boxing). We had ringside seats for 10 matches and it's every bit as brutal as people claim. Hearing the pounding of fist or knee into muscle or bone is an intensley jarring experience. The crowd is yelling and shouting for their favorites and waving hands histarically while betting on the toughest fighter to win.

Another equally entertaining experience is watching Chad try to determine if the girls walking down the street at night are ladyboys or not. Some of them are quite convincing and could fool even the most trained eye. Their persistance is unmatched as proven by the fact that Chad had to use more force than he was accustomed to in order to break free of the clutches of some of them. "You want good time? You want boom boom fuckie fuckie?" This is their usual sales tactic and it must work some of the time because there are quite a few of them roaming the crowded areas of Banglamphu as foreigners spill out onto the streets from chic lounges and clubs looking for the next party.

The flight to Ko Samui is a short one, only one hour. But during that hour we were served a snack, drinks, a full meal, and more drinks before touching down in Thailand's paradise island. Even while waiting for the plane at the gate visitors are served orange juice, pastries, small sandwiches, and chilled bananas, all for free. A short mini-bus ride to the dock puts you on the boat to Ko Phangan. Landing at Hat Rin, we are greeted by touts calling out destinations on the island. We followed the guy shouting Ao Thong Nai Pan Noi. The beach is actually two beaches separated by a headland of huge boulders that spill into the sea atop which sits a beautiful five star resort. We stayed on the smaller of the two beaches which faces east into an oblivion of green glassy sea and big blue sky. The beach is dotted with longtail boats anchored in the bay and the sound of the breeze blowing through the palm trees invokes dreams of utopia.